The Doctor Is Dying
by HereIsErin
Summary: Sherlock Holmes read a book when he was just seven years old. A fairytale of a man in a box and with a companion. Little did he know what this novel that he read would mimic his own life and his own story...


Everything is Ending, by J. Smith. One of Sherlock Holmes' favourite reads, a book that focused on a fantasy that someone could be brought back to life. A real fantasy, more of science fiction to Sherlock than of a danger, thriller, that it was meant to be. Of course, when the great detective first read the book at the tender age of 8, he had loved it. A book that was once Mycroft's (once, implying that Mycroft gave it to Sherlock, which was anything but a stretch of the truth.) Agreed, it was a little complex, so a normal 7 year old wouldn't understand. But Sherlock Holmes was not a normal 7 year old.

And so, as Sherlock's young mind took in this searingly complex story, he would be bombarded with ideas of 'regeneration' and a man that would bring himself closer to the idea of sciences and believing the impossible. 'The Doctor'. Unfortunately, much to Sherlock's dismay, the Doctor isn't, wasn't real. Just a figment of one 's imagination, but his stories brought truth to every day life. Like how someone should care for others, that there was good in every bad deed done. That you would, at some point, find someone worth dying for.

As the years would pass on, this marvellous book would be disregarded, thrown into storage, used as a coaster and something to balance many of Sherlock's experiments. But it was always there, as Sherlock went to University, dropped out (aka: kicked out, something to do with drug dealing...) and moved into Baker Street. Then Doctor John Hamish Watson came along.

The Doctor, a brave man with a calm heart. Someone who had decided to help people in the midst of a battle instead of making things worse. A good man. And this good man, soon became Sherlock's flat mate. His colleague, his assistant, his companion. And yet, this man. This good man, would stick by a man addicted to adventure and danger, would kill for him and would rather jump for him, than for him to jump.

Then the book resurfaced. A book that one Ex-Army Doctor would pick up. One that would change the way he saw things, the way he acted. A book that showed Sherlock's childhood down to one letter, that described how he would dream of adventures and the reason why he deleted it from his head. Because that hurt, shouldn't be shown to any child. The loss of a companion is something that would tear someone in too, nonetheless kill them.

'Everything is Ending'. Doctor John Watson knew that feeling all too well. When he was shot, when he was dying, All because he was stupid enough, brave enough, loyal enough, to go onto the battlefield. To go to the wounded and to heal them, to make them better. And that was when he saw death in the darkness and spat in his face. He was born a new man (not literally, you silly people) , a braver one.

…

Two months had pasted since John found the book. Two months since Sherlock had completed a case that focused on a series of mass suicides. Two months since John had restarted his career in a local hospital, otherwise known as St Barts. This job pleased Sherlock to no end, able to steal John's ID card and get into the morgue on the third floor. Brilliant.

The brave Doctor started to hang out with his colleagues more, started to have drinks at the nearby pubs with his new friends. He started to accompany Sherlock with his cases less, but still had that relationship with Sherlock that meant that he would be glad to help him whenever he wanted. But clearly the great detective felt otherwise, that he was betrayed by fantastic flat mate. That's when Sherlock started to read books he found all over the flat, bored out of his mind in the absence of any good cases. That's when he came across his childhood love, his muse for his bravery and the centre of his want for danger and excitement. 'Everything is Ending'.

As this genius started to flick through the tattered, worn pages, his childhood and happiness would flash in front of his eyes. His love for this all would make him endearingly happy and distracted him away from the evil of this world (and the lack of cases.)

"Chapter One: The Wedding."

It had always confused Sherlock why this book had a chapter called 'the wedding', yet it never mentioned in the first chapter. It was ridiculous. Mycroft had tried to explain the concept of the want for a companion and the fact that the Doctor found one was the marriage of friendship, the love that was thought to be purely platonic between the two companions.

The great detective would snort and throw the book across the room, as like he did last time, and the time before, and the time before that. Well, that was the way he was. He didn't believe in this excitement like he had before. He didn't need to imagine the excitement, because he already had the thrill of the chase, the companion by his side, the danger and the need to fix things that were wrong. He didn't need imagination to throw himself away from a world where his parents had left Mycroft to look after him, to throw him away from his drug-taking, drug-dealing days. Because he has the excitement now. And nothing could take that away from him.

Except one enemy, who had gone by the character of a Professor. A brilliant character, he was a Professor, a genius. But he was psychotic. And this psychotic, genius, was the one person that would be with Sherlock, as long as he was alive. One couldn't survive without the other. It was the law of the universe. This man, was James Moriarty. Professor James Moriarty.

And John Watson, ahh, John Watson. Sherlock should have read that book by . He may have learnt something about how companions will always fall and falter for the good of the other. And Moriarty would play with this, for Sherlock wasn't the only one who read a book when he was young. Perhaps, perhaps, Moriarty had thought things through. He had predicted how Sherlock would act (How very Ooooooordinary) and had been planning things for years.

And that brings you, brings Sherlock and John, Mycroft and Moriarty to this point in time now. Right now. Right here.

Right now, Right here, is in a small, dank building. Because it his hardly terrifying to be threatened, dismembered and perhaps killed in a cheerful place. You want it to be dark, to be terrifying and scary. You don't want to see your attackers face, you want to see the black and the darkness, you want to hear your heartbeat falter as you hear footsteps. Or that's how Moriarty found it. He wanted the 'full experience' for his little friend.

And as Professor James Moriarty's ''little friend'' awoke, Moriarty realised how much fun it would be to dismember, to make this ginger fox bleed like a lamb being slaughtered for meat. He couldn't wait to taste the sweet taste of blood dripping from his fingers after scooping up some of that rich blood that would drip down a slightly distended stomach and off the exceedingly rich suit onto the buckets below. He couldn't wait.

And you know what, neither could the Professor's exceedingly new friend, the Ex-Army Doctor, John Hamish Watson.


End file.
